She's America's sweetheart. He's a world famous musician, translating personal heartbreak to golden lyrics. A serendipitous encounter along the coast of Cannes sparks a passionate and unexpected romance that will leave the world in awe.
"I loved yo...
He keeps a steady and protective hand on my own as we rush into the now busy streets. While the sun is bright and present, the flashing lights of photographs being stolen is far more prominent and brighter. They all demand for answers and time as I solely focus on not tripping on my own two feet.
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"Layla, when is the next movie being released?"
"Are you two now seeing each other?"
"Is she your new girlfriend, Harry?"
As crowds begin to surround us both, we unfortunately and inevitably lose touch of one another. I'm thrown into a sea of screaming and devoted fans as they surround me entirely, capturing photo after photo. I try my best to stand in for all, but after a while it gets far too demanding. Thankfully, the presence of a familiar face strives forward, hoping to be the much needed anchor I crave to keep from drowning.
"Please, give her some room. Don't crowd her, please," Harry urgently states, lacing his hand with my own before ushering me forth.
I can practically hear the headlines loud and clear for tomorrow's news: Layla James and Harry Styles spotted on a romantic outing in Cannes.
I'm not a fool and this isn't my first time being dragged in the tabloids. But, I try not to think about that for the time being as we make our way towards safety. He quickly opens the car door for me, rushing on to turn the engine to life before we speed away from such a turnabout. For quite some time, neither of us utter a single word; far too frazzled and dazed for quaint conversation. Eventually, he moves his right hand from the wheel to reach for my own. And despite what my rational mind thinks, I accept. I allow for the first time in my life to just go along with what my heart wishes.
And in this very moment, all my heart wants is for him to hold my hand in peace as we drive back to the hotel. Once we arrive, it's absolute madness as well as paparazzi await for our return. Thankfully, an array of security also exists to prevent a similar reoccurrence. I practically dash out of the car and into the hotel lobby, turning around slightly to ensure Harry follows behind me. Once inside the elevators, we remain quiet, catching our breaths as the adrenaline pumps through our bodies. When we arrive on the top floor, I prepare to make my grand exit and into whatever speech Grace has cooked up for me now. However, the soft mention of my name brings me to a stop as I turn, looking into saddened green eyes.
"Layla, I'm sorry," he says.
"It's not your fault."
"How can you say that? I lost track of time."
"We both lost track of time." His eyes are pained with remorse as he isn't entirely convinced. He stuffs his hands in his trousers, fixating on the designs embroidered into the carpet. "This isn't your fault, please don't blame yourself."
